WARNINGS: Death (no cannon death), violence, gore

So this came to me... well not this in particular, but something that does have to do with this story was a part of a dream I had last night. I won't try to replicate the dream, or at least not now, because I don't believe I could do it justice. So here's just a small part of it taken farther than my dream delved into. Feliciano may seem OOC here... at least to some people, but I believe I explain it well enough in the actual story. Happy reading all.

I'd also like to mention, Feliciano is Italy and Ludwig is Germany. I suppose it would seem to be common place knowledge, but I just wanted to be absolutely sure you know who I'm talking about.

He was a coward, he couldn't deny it. Over the years it became common place to shake in fear at the mention of violence or fighting. He ran, or at least tried to run, when encountering these situations.

He hated war, war had taken his grandfather, his innocence, and his first love. Wars never truly solved anything, because hate would always be there. The cycle never ends when it comes to humans, be it because of their nature, or because of the cruel nature of the universe itself.

Humans weren't all bad, not really. Despite the destruction, the hate, the vile acts that have been committed, there was always a light to shine through. Art, music, fun, inventions, food, things that make up a culture and it's people.

With evil there is always good. With good there is always evil. The balance may shift from time to time, but there is never a moment of black or white for the world, there is always an area in between were the thoughts and ways of the living creatures of this planet can stray from the norm, and a change begins.

Feliciano Veneziano Vargas was no different. By most perceptions of the world, something such as him should not exist, but it made no difference. The fact was that he DID exist, and another fact was that despite all that made him more than normal, more than a human, and gave him something that others did not possess, he is as they are. He has emotions, human emotions, thoughts, memories, limitations, everything that makes a human a human. And the weakness that comes with it.

Everyone has a limit. You may not know yours, or maybe that limit has already been revealed to you. Either way, the limit exists. And where the limit exists exists a choice to be made. Crumble, cease to function, or rise to the occasion. Even if you're terrified, even if you're hurting inside, even if it seems impossible, the choice is always there. What you choose is up to you.

When you have something that's more important to you than anything in the world, the universe, all of existence, which you yourself could not survive without, how far are you willing to go for that thing? Would you lie for it? Would you cheat, or steal for it?

Would you kill?

He didn't want to be here, he was afraid. His heart was hammering against his ribcage, trying to escape from his chest, on the inside. On the outside he was calm, his breathing was steady, his face impassive, and his movements slow and measured. He must be careful.

Loud gunshots, screaming, and getting hit were among many things that simply weren't in his style. He wasn't a fighter, but in situations where fighting was his only choice, he prefered to commit his deeds in silence, quickly, and with precision. It was the safest way for him, and what he sought to protect.

He'd scouted the area ahead of time, he knew how many were inside, knew where they were and what he had to do when he found them. One at the front gate. It wasn't heavily guarded. They were unprepared, they thought that no enemy they had would be stupid enough to actually attack them directly because of the trump card that they held. That was what Feliciano was here for, it's what he'd die for, and more importantly, what he was willing to kill for.

He brandished his knife, holding the blade steadily in his hand as he crept on all fours through the shadowed bushes toward his target. He hadn't been seen, and hopefully wouldn't be. His unusual quietness was almost frightening, had anyone been there to witness it. Standing from the bushes, directly behind the first victim, he lunged forward silently, wrapping a gloved hand around the man's mouth to muffle any noise. Feliciano felt him gasped against his hand, seconds before he choked on his own blood. The knife slid through his skin like butter, severing his arteries and killing him quickly.

Feliciano tried not to drop him in disgust, his stomach rolling as he felt the blood, warm against his fingers, running down his hands. Quietly he lowered the corpse to the ground, dragging it from the main walk and into the bushes, in case someone were to investigate, a dead body would be a dead giveaway that someone who wasn't supposed to be here was in the general vicinity.

One down, many more to go. It would be a long night, but those thoughts wouldn't help anyone. He HAD to do this, there was no choice, and he only prayed that God would forgive him for the lives he would take tonight.

Entering the building he held close to the wall, hiding in the shadows and creeping silently. The floors didn't squeak, thankfully, and most of the hall lights were off. There was a door to his left, open, and beyond it he could hear someone shuffling around, the beep of a microwave, and the quiet hum of machinery. It made him feel sick inside to think about what the man was doing. Was it sinister? Was it awful and disgusting? No, nothing of the sort. He was probably heating up dinner, maybe his wife had made it for him before sending him off to work. He was human, he had a life, Feli didn't know this man, he shouldn't-

He clenched his fists and shut his eyes, no, stop it, stop thinking about it. Don't think, don't feel, look at the path ahead and remember why you're here. His eyes dilated, adrenaline running high in his veins. A quick peek around the corner confirmed that the man was alone, his back was turned. Great.

He'd have to dispatch this one more cleanly than the last, blood stains would be too obvious. Entering the room he watched for signs of movement from the man, his breath shallow and controlled, creeping close until he was within reaching distance. Again, he grabbed him around the mouth, but this time didn't immediately end his life. He took his other hand, crossing it across the man's neck and turned it sharply. There was a loud, far too loud, crack and then the man went limp in his arms, nearly falling to the ground. He clenched his teeth and hoisted him up under his arms, dragging the body toward a near by closet and stashing it away.

He was in.

More than once he wondered if it was all worth it, and then he remembered why he was here and stopped questioning. When he saw the crumpled form of a man resting against his cell he had to stifle a gasp. Quickly he inserted and turned the keys, unlocking the door and entering the cell. Kneeling down in front of the man, startling him from his unyielding daydreams, he reached out a hand. A smile brought out across his blood stained face, tears rolling down his cheeks silently, "Ludwig."

Ludwig didn't ask questions, even when they returned home, he left Feliciano be because there was something in the smaller man's eyes that frightened him. Feliciano didn't leave Ludwig's side for a good hour or two, but eventually was shooed away to clean himself up.

Oh if only he hadn't looked in the mirror.

Blood, there was so much blood. How many had he killed again? Did it matter? Would that really change anything? Even when he threw away his gloves and scrubbed his hands till they were red and sore, even though he knew deep down that he wasn't a bad person, he wondered if he'd ever feel clean again.